Chapter 13
Outside, the night air was chilly with the promise of more rain. It helped Rylana to clear her head, and she gulped it in.
“A walk,” she decided, starting to recognize that she needed to cool off her heated body. “Maybe a bath in the fountain,” she added, only half-joking.
At the least, splashing water on her face might help.
She headed to the nearest intersection with a fountain but paused when she drew close.
Two cloaked and hooded figures stepped out of the cross street on their way toward the waterfront.
They glanced at her, and one slowed down for a longer look.
The light from the streetlamp cast illumination for her to see a lock of blond-green hair and a face that she’d come across earlier in the day. It was one of the elves.
The urge to turn and sprint back to the diner swept into Rylana, but they would view that behavior as suspicious.
And she didn’t want them to have a reason to scrutinize her too closely.
Even though she didn’t think she’d ever met these particular elves, they might somehow know that she’d been in the war, that she’d been an enemy.
Rylana continued to the fountain, pretending not to notice or care that they’d paused on the other side to confer with each other in soft tones.
Feeling constrained by their presence, she only dabbed water on her face instead of splashing it all over her head.
Her body was still flushed, and she struggled to get rid of thoughts of running back to Jildarin and dragging him to her blanket.
A dragon was too strong to be dragged anywhere.
“Human female,” one of the elves said, the one who’d looked at her. He pushed back the hood of his cloak, deliberately brushing his hair back to reveal his pointed ears, and stepped close to her.
“Male elf.” Rylana faced him, snarky words coming to mind, but she paused, noticing for the first time his striking beauty. Perhaps, if Jildarin wasn’t interested in a romantic encounter, another male might be…
The spices, came a warning from the back of her mind. The spices were responsible for these feelings.
“We spotted you earlier in the company of an elf,” he said.
“Yes, I was trying to sell her a gnomish commercial oven.” Rylana smiled at them to hide her concern for Sylin. “I don’t suppose either of you might be interested in one? You don’t look like the chef types, but I have several available and might even cut a deal for a bulk purchase.”
The elves looked at each other.
“No? Well, if you’ll excuse me, I’m needed back at the diner. It was recently reviewed in the Chronicles, so we’re quite busy.” Rylana stepped in that direction, but both elves moved to cut her off.
Instinctively, she dropped into a crouch, her hand going to the spot where she usually wore a sword, but she’d left her weapons in the storeroom. There was little point in carrying them around when they couldn’t be used.
She shifted her grip to the utility knife on her belt, but she didn’t draw it. The elves looked young and athletic, and their kind were known for strength and stamina, something she well knew from her sparring matches with Sylin.
“We are looking for the elf that you were seen with today.”
The speaker looked at her hand on the hilt of her knife but didn’t appear alarmed by it, nor did he draw a blade of his own.
Still, there was a coolness to his gaze that brought back memories of confrontations with their kind, of the mercenaries and kingdom soldiers clashing on the battlefield with elven infantry and cavalry.
She’d usually stayed back with the other archers and men firing cannons, but she’d ended up face-to-face with a pointy-eared enemy more than once over the years.
Each time, she had been lucky to survive.
Here, unlike during the war, she didn’t have any allies standing at her side.
“I don’t know where she went,” Rylana said, trying to set aside her unease. One of the city’s security pillars loomed on the other side of the fountain. It was unlikely the elves would attack her. “She didn’t want to buy an oven,” she added.
“I would think not,” the other elf murmured, speaking for the first time. “Baking isn’t what she’s known for.”
Two hells, these people knew Sylin was an assassin. They probably knew she’d killed her own kind, and they wanted… what? Did the elves intend to kill Sylin because she’d fought on the other side during the war? Even though she was in a city where violence was forbidden?
“Will you step aside, or do I need to yell for the peacekeepers?” Rylana asked, aware of her heart beating faster, the thumps reverberating through her body. The effects of the dragon spices were fading, but she didn’t feel entirely herself and worried her reaction speed would be diminished.
“I think this female knows more than she’s implying,” the first speaker said.
“Undoubtedly. We should escort her to the enclave for questioning.” The elf glanced at the pillar but reached for her, regardless.
Rylana sprang back quickly enough to avoid his grasp and drew her knife. “I’m not going with you.”
“She is needed at my diner,” came Jildarin's voice from the side. “She will return with me.”
Wearing his white chef’s garb and a cool expression, Jildarin strode into the intersection.
The elves turned without surprise, as if they’d sensed him coming. Maybe they had. Their kind had intrinsic magic and power. Not as much as a dragon possessed but far more than a simple human like Rylana.
“You will not impede her return,” Jildarin added, glancing toward Rylana's drawn knife. “She is my bookkeeper and too busy serving me to journey to your enclave.”
“Our pardon, Lord Dragon.” The elf who’d wanted to take Rylana for questioning bowed low to Jildarin, sweeping his cloak out wide. “She was prevaricating with me, and I had reason to suspect her of withholding information that I seek.”
“All humans prevaricate.” Jildarin came to stand beside Rylana and face the elves. “It is in their nature.”
“Having you come to my defense is a delight,” Rylana murmured.
“Yes,” Jildarin agreed.
“That is true, Lord Dragon. We will not impede your servant further.”
Rylana bristled, her grip involuntarily tightening on her knife. “I’m the bookkeeper, not a servant.”
“Is it possible, Lord Dragon,” the elf said, ignoring her, “that you have seen the one whom we seek? A green-haired elven female who moves with the practiced step of a deadly predator?”
“I have seen that one,” Jildarin said as Rylana shook her head. “I do not know where she is located at this time.” Jildarin cocked his head and considered the elves. “Do you desire a meal? I would offer it for free if you are willing to rate the dishes afterward.”
“Rate?” one mouthed, both looking at each other.
“He’s in need of elven palates to practice on,” Rylana said, though the last thing she wanted was for these two to come back to the diner with them.
“We thank you for your offer, Lord Dragon, but we are not hungry.”
The elves bowed to him and walked up the street, passing under the pillar on their way deeper into the city.
They had been heading toward the waterfront, but something about the exchange was causing them to alter course.
They gave long looks back over their shoulders before disappearing from view, and Rylana worried she hadn’t seen the last of them. She worried even more for her friend.
“Are you done seeking to mate with me?” Jildarin asked, his gaze on Rylana instead of the elves.
“I…” She wanted to say yes, but when she met his striking green eyes, another warm flush swept over her, along with the desire to step closer. “Maybe not entirely.”
“You took more soup than you were supposed to,” he said with certainty.
“It was really good. I couldn’t help myself.”
“It is good.” Jildarin lifted his chin, looking more pleased that he made such fine food than disappointed that she hadn’t been able to help herself. “But you did not rate it. Unlike the suitably obedient dwarf baker, you failed to rate any of my dishes.”
“I got distracted by your allure.”
“That is unfortunate.”
“You should have shape-shifted into a less handsome form. If you looked like Rolf, I probably wouldn’t have kissed you, no matter how horny I was.”
“You are certain?” Jildarin asked. “He claims that goblin females—as well as females of other species—find him irresistible.”
“You do know that goblins are even more known for prevaricating than humans, right?”
“Oh, yes. I deem him a dubious resource at best. Come. You will sleep, and in the morning, the spices will have worn off.”
“Yes, that would be best,” Rylana agreed. “We shouldn’t be… I mean, normally, I wouldn’t—” She waved at him.
“I am certain,” he said dryly, then considered her for a moment instead of leading the way back. “You continue to carry your bow with you on your journey, but you say you are no longer a mercenary.”
The way he spoke made it sound like a statement, but he waited, watching her, as if it had been a question and he expected an answer.
“That’s right,” Rylana said. “The roads outside Tranquility can be dangerous. Besides, I still hunt and target shoot to keep my skills up. I’ve always found it relaxing. I had a bow before I went south and joined the Moon Daggers.”
“You are certain you are no longer employed in the capacity of a mercenary? One who might be working for those for whom the war never ended? Those who desire to see dragons killed?”
“I’m certain.” Rylana realized he might believe her more likely to answer honestly under the influence of his spiced soup.
And maybe it was making her more open out of a desire to be close to him, but the answers to these questions wouldn’t have changed, regardless.
“I lost the stomach for killing and watching comrades die. Long before the treaty and the end of the war, I was ready for it to be over. I only continued to work as a merc because of the captain. We were close.”
“You felt loyalty to him.”